Sorry that this post is going up so late. I’ve spent hours writing it. Which reminds me, I’m sorry about the length, too.
I realized I needed to write this after a particularly unpleasant back-and-forth with a customer. Afterward, I realized my heart was beating fast, and I was a little queasy. It’s a familiar feeling.
I don’t talk about my dad on here. He’s not part of my life; I cut him out for my own well-being. But I’ll never be rid of his effects, as evidenced by shakiness and queasiness after just an emailed confrontation.
My father emotionally abused Mom and me. He terrorized us with his anger — both the actual fury and the threat of it. We tiptoed around him, knowing that it was only a matter of time before something set him off.
There must have been times when he was normal, even nice. I have flashes of him smiling and being pleasant. But most of my memories revolve around his anger.
Actually, my most vivid memory of his anger was at a restaurant. After being dragged to a movie I hadn’t wanted to see and to a restaurant with one dish I liked, I probably wasn’t in the best frame of mind.
So the lack of a requested corn on the cob made me tear up. When I explained the problem to my parents, Dad exclaimed that it was bullshit. For a split second, I thought he was agreeing with me. My heart lifted a little, which made it all the more crushing when I discovered he was angry at me.
With his face three inches from mine, he proceeded to explain that I was being a brat and needed to behave. He probably also said I was ruining the day.
He said that a lot. At my uncle’s wedding, when I was too shy to dance with the groom, my dad took me aside and told me I was ruining the whole wedding.
So he probably mentioned ruination, but all I remember being transfixed by how incredibly blue his eyes were. I couldn’t look away.
When he was done, I went into full sobbing mode and ran to the bathroom. (I knew how to navigate the place through tears. We ate there a lot.) Mom came in to get me but apparently took too much time. So Dad decided she was siding with me.
He stormed to the car. When Mom tried to engage him, he snapped that he couldn’t talk to either of us right now. So we sat there absorbing his seething silence. Mom started crying quietly.
That’s when it crystallized: This was all my fault. If I were a better daughter, Dad wouldn’t get so angry, and Mom wouldn’t be put in the middle. The guilt for this pain, including my own, was squarely on my shoulders.
There were, of course, plenty of words later that evening. Words said in a raised voice. Just the one. I don’t remember Mom every shouting back. Mainly she just cried.
His anger wasn’t always at us, though. There was plenty to go around. A lot of people who didn’t show him respect. Sometimes he’d come home ranting that so-and-so had it out for him, everyone there hated him, and they wouldn’t care if he died.
Or the time my orthodontist ran 40 minutes late. He — having had a very bad history with doctors, in the form of an unnecessary kidney removal — hated doctors in general. He sat out in the car. When I finally came out, he said he’d contemplated calling the cops to report a kidnapping.
The thing is, the object of his rage didn’t have to be us. We were still around to absorb it. His anger polluted the air. At those times, it always felt like the air was heavier and harder to breathe. And these episodes just reminded us what was in store the next time we slipped up.
I was 21 when a therapist finally made me understand that I wasn’t the one in the wrong. That a child is under no obligation to love a parent — that love has to be earned. And that , from the sound of it, he failed to earn it at every turn. Apparently, it’s not okay to ask your 12 year old, “Don’t you love me anymore?” Who knew?
In my early 20s, I shut him out — an impressive feat since Mom was still living with him. He felt betrayed by my attitude, though, so that made it easier to keep conversations short.
I did try to reconcile with him in my late 20s. I heard he’d gone into therapy. (He quit after a couple of months.) So I wanted to have a talk — by email, I still cry easily — and go over the way his actions had affected me.
He glossed over most of it, and had completely different accounts of the rest. When I kept trying to get a real dialogue going, he said that if I just wanted to keep rehashing things in the past then there was no point in talking.
For some reason, that wasn’t enough to send me running, so we settled into banal emails. Except that he started sending me job suggestions. Like a math teacher, based on a bit of praise back in high school, or selling some of the brownies I used to make (Mom’s twist on a Betty Crocker recipe), because Mrs. Fields got started at home.
Tim came home to find me crying, hurt and frustrated by my dad’s obliviousness. He told me to stop emailing him. It’s been seven years, and I haven’t regretted it once.
But getting rid of him didn’t get rid of the effects. I still start to tremble and cry if a man raises his voice at me. Even if I’m not scared; even if I’m downright angry. And if a guy is shouting at someone else near me, my heart will beat faster, plus the aforementioned queasiness. And when I’m around any angry person, I still feel like the air is heavier.
I think I’m stuck with those for life, but at least that life is without him.
Maybe still shaky, but very wise.
Thanks Barbara, kind words always help.
What a sad story.
Some people are just hopelessly mentally ill, and nothing anyone tries to do to make it better will help. Sounds like that was the man's story. What a shame. Too bad he harmed you and your mom in his sickness, too.
I guess it just makes me appreciate Tim (and how well he deals with his temper) all the more. Of course, Tim has said bad things will happen if he ever meets my dad so…
You are not alone – just wanted you to know that!
Thanks Vesta. Though I'm sorry if that means that you've had to endure this type of thing.
Oh honey, I'm so sorry for what you've gone through. I'm really sorry that those scars still hurt when they get rubbed at, and can leave you emotionally drained and wondering if it ever ends. I wish there were some words of comfort or even ease that could help, but I've discovered that over the years it's a lot easier to inflict damage with words than it is to heal with them. The only thing I can offer is something a very wise family friend once told me. It's not warm and fluffy, or even particularly comforting, but it helps me sometimes when my own scars start to hurt. Scar tissue, be it physical or mental, grows back with different characteristics. Just as you can run your fingers over where a particularly deep wound has been and feel the change, so to can you feel the difference when something brushes one of those scars we all carry unseen. The thing to remember is that scars change over time, and how they change is up to you. If you want a physical scar to blend in, or to not be as stiff, you have to commit to taking care of it. Using sunscreen so it won't darken, massaging it to keep the tissue pliable, etc. We don't have the routines for mental scars as well mapped out, but we know a huge part of what helps is taking care of the whole person. We also know that some things are going to stay sensitive. What you describe is a horrible experience for anyone to go through even asan isolated incident. Having it be a systematic reinjuring throughout your childhood is something that no words can encompass fully. Now comes the but. Abby, you found the strength to remove contact. You found the strength to try again. You found even more strength and admitted when it wasn't working, and you are brave enough to say what you did in self defense and own it without constant doubt. You have moved forward with your life- not only facing down a physical health problem, but finding the strength, determination, and sheer commitment to write about how you face down your challenges in life with a deft whit, and kind humor. You have been able to work around those scars and find a happy and loving partnership with Tim. You have found ways to divorce your emotional pain from how you handle your money, and you have savings, goals, and plans. You're even planning how to become a mother. So, when that happens, however it does, you will be a great mom, and you will have a chance to give your child strength that comes from you growing up with that pain, while sparing your child such a parent. I know it doesn't feel like it when you're left emotionally drained and aching, but you aren't broken. Not by a long shot. Okay, you have a physical reaction to that situation- your emotional pressure valve hits it's limit and vents a little. If you go through years with that remaining the same, you've still come one hell of a long way, and I will still call you a strong woman who can kick butt. Because you keep going out there in the world, understanding that you might have to face that. To stand there, and acknowledge a weakness that reaches that deep. To talk about how it happened. That takes strength, and chica, you've got it in spades. Whatever you choose to do- be it more therapy, finding a support group, or saying that you'll deal with it as it comes for now- you have come further than anyone has any right to expect someone to after taking that kind of mental battery. You are a survivor, and you win every day where you can smile at even the smallest thing. Beyond that, you have built a life, and you do more than survive. I know it isn't easy to see every day, but you are thriving, and you are handling that heaping plate of life with aplomb. Courage isn't not feeling fear- that's stupidity. We have fear for a reason, and it's wired into the survival part of us. Courage is knowing you will face instances you fear, or ones that will hurt, and continuing to walk. It sounds to me like you and your mom both have that, and both leave the world a better place as you pass through it. Take care of yourself, hon. However you recharge your emotional batteries, indulge. The world will be here- whatever it decides to bring tomorrow, it brings. Even if it involves needing tissues for a while.
Wow, thank you. And you're right: Your family friend is wise. It's a timely quote, too, because my trach scar is finally almost gone. (Yes, it's taken this long for some reason.) It's a little weird to think that some day I won't have this little belly button at the bottom of my neck. But I guess it'll always be there.
Tim takes a lot of the credit for getting me out this last time. And for just being so completely unlike my dad.
Tim and I constantly talk about how courage isn't the lack of fear — it somehow comes up a lot with things we watch — but the fact that you know it's dangerous and go in anyway. I didn't really have a choice to go into the situation, but at least I had people (therapists and friends and, of course, Tim) to pull me out of it.
Wow, Abby, I'm so sorry. I have a similar person in my life, though thankfully his effect on me has not been nearly as profound, probably because he is not a blood relative. It took seeing him get angry at my toddler last year to decide to basically cut him out of my life. (I can't do it completely, as he is still married to someone I want to have a relationship with). But for years, I was certain I was a terrible person and a bad daughter because everything I did made him angry and annoyed. (If anyone ever complimented me in his hearing when I was a child/teenager, he'd immediately respond "Well, you don't have to live with her.")
I'm not entirely sure why I'm sharing this, but I guess I want you to know that you're not alone. Also, just so you know, I think the world of you and your mom and I think it's wonderful to see what you have both created.
Emily, I'm sorry to hear about your situation. Even just that one sentence about your toddler made my stomach seize. My dad is fine with little kids — loves 'em. But I noticed over the years that he stopped exclaiming over my uncle's first daughter as much as the second and third. Then it was mainly the second. He'd mention the others in passing, but he really only favored the ones that were still young and in awe of him, I think.
I'm glad you were able to more or less cut him out. For the few years before Mom left him, I still had some very, very minimal contact with him. It was hard. And I'm sorry he shot down praise of you. Dad was always proud of my achievements. It was the rest of me that caused problems. I actually think that's at the basis of my Type A, overachiever personality (which makes the chronic fatigue especially awful). Because at least what I did in school was never wrong and made me a good daughter.
Of course, somehow that led to my viewing school as a zero-sum game. If I wasn't the best, I was nothing. I remember being pleased to get a 95 on a Spanish test. Then I saw a friend's paper with a 98. I was crushed, and I immediately looked at my grade as worthless.
It's gotten better over the years, goodness knows. It's kind of had to. And Tim keeps me in check when I start to slip back into those patterns.
Oh, wow, Abby, I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. With me, it was my mom, not my dad, because they divorced when I was four and mom moved back to her home state, Arkansas. I'm not going into detail, let me just say that as far back as I can remember, I was afraid of her. She wasn't so much angry as she was cold and unaffectionate and seemed to find motherhood extremely boring. When she died, not a single friend showed up for her memorial service. She didn't have any friends. She just didn't seem capable of connecting with people.
Wow. I'm sorry you couldn't have a more loving and affectionate mom. I sometimes wonder what we all would have been like if we could have gotten therapy while this crap was still happening to us. Would have vastly improved my taste in men before I wised up and snagged Tim.
We can't change other people only ourselves. And sometimes we just need to admit that our words mean nothing to others and walk away. I understand you. Completely. It was my mom.
I have had very little contact with my family in the last 20 years and none in the past 2 years. And life is better without them.
I have had to deal with some terrible people in my life. I have no family to speak of. No one. But its alright, I'm glad I'm me so it has all worked out.
Just do what I do. Whenever I see a mirror, I smile my biggest smile at myself. Every single time. Just because some people in my life have been cruel and hateful, it doesn't mean that I have to be mean to me and carry on that legacy. I have some wonderful Gifts in my life and I point them all out to me when I get low. Smile that's the key to a good life.
I love the idea of smiling in a mirror. Certainly better than frowning at my pudgy legs!
I think that once you grow up you get the luxury/necessity of choosing your own family. I didn't understand that for a long time, but once you choose the people you consider family I think things get easier. Certainly more supportive.
My mom is a yeller and guilt tripper. There are 3 of us girls. I am the defensive type that will yell back and tell someone to shut up (then cry in my room). My younger sister is the one that tries to be nice or do whatever it is what mom was yelling about. My youngest sister can actually tune people out completely and seems to be able to ignore anything she doesn't like (like the yelling). Everyone has their way of dealing. Sounds like you really did need to cut your dad out completely since it just hurt you over and over with no end in sight. The rest of your reactions to anger will probably mellow with time…maybe not fade completely, but definitely better overall. Good luck.
Well, they haven't faded in the 15+ years that I've interacted with my dad in person. So I'm not too hopeful. But I'm getting better at not giving into the fear and trembling and going all meek. I allow myself to be angry at the treatment and to speak up about it. Standing up for yourself is pretty therapeutic.
I sometimes wonder if it's healthier to be able to tune anything you don't like out. Seems like it would just cause a whole different sort of problem. Then again, during the abusive stuff it'd be a godsend.
One day your father will be on his death bed. Go. It'll be more healing for you than helpful for him. You can't fix mental illness in another person. You can't fix someone else's anger. But you can heal yourself. Cutting people out of your life is helpful in keeping your sanity, but believe me when I say, no matter how far you travel, they are still right there until you deal with the anger and disappointment you have in them. People will literally make themselves sick over dealing with people like your father. Your father was a self-absorbed, low self-esteem person. Probably got it from his father (or mother). He might be able to perform at work, but personally he was a loser. He probably never learned how to love another person, like you love your Tim. And for that, you should feel very sorry for him and forgive him. It'll do you a world of good. You know it isn't you. It's him, and he'll never learn or experience the wonder you have in your life.
Feeling as you do about him, will always keep you down mentally, physically, and in other ways. When you forgive him for being a very, very flawed human who will never know love like you do, you'r life will change instantly. Believe me, forgiveness is very hard to do with an abusive parent like that. You always think…but you were the parent and I was the child!
But you have to realize, there's no fixing broken people like that. They will never change. They will never give you the love you deserve. They will always be flawed. But you have the insight not to carry on the dysfunction and you don't have to punish yourself for him being less of a parent than he should be.
Forgive him. It'll set you free.
I've been working on forgiving him for years. At the very least, I'm starting to let it go. To see that he was terrifying but also just a very, very unhappy human. An assholic unhappy person, but there you have it.
I don't think seeing him in person would help any. I think it might just make it worse, frankly. I've said what I had to say to him in an email, which is probably better. I had time to edit myself, and it was less confrontational, talk-about-it-right-now. He still chooses to see things his way.
I've progressed to the point that I have started feeling sorry for him because long ago I realized he will never, ever be happy. With himself or others. He's turned into more a creep — due to his own narcissism – so that he had no qualms about his wife working two jobs to support them because he couldn't get anything in his field. (It never would have occurred to him to work elsewhere, you see.)
But that's the point. He'll never feel truly acknowledged or loved or whole. The depression can often make me feel like a terrible person. But thanks to people like Tim, I've come to understand that those thoughts are symptoms of my illness; and that the truth is what people like Tim see in me.
That's farther than I think he's come in 60 years. And father, I suspect, than he'll ever get.
It does occur to me now and again that one day I will hear about his death and be left feeling very odd. While I have no intention of trying with him again, there's a finality in death that speaks to everything that will officially never be wrapped up. I'll probably even be sad — though more for that little girl who suffered than for him. But hopefully by then I'll have enough perspective to feel a little bad for the life he wasted being so angry.
Sounds a whole lot like my stepfather. With his death I only felt anger for his method of death, and again ruining Christmas, and relief at his being gone.
I'm so sorry you had to deal with that. And yeah I can imagine my anger if someone I didn't like and who had tormented me then ruined a great holiday.
Once in awhile I still cringe while giving out presents. I passed my dad a gift and said Merry Christmas. To which he snapped, "I'm Jewish." He gave a gift each Hannukah, but that was it. Meanwhile, it was friggin Christmas morning, where the majority of our gifts were given, sitting in front of a small tree (the most he wanted). So… uh… just take the gift, ass.
Happily, most of my reactions have faded, except for often thinking Tim is bothered when he's not. He's polite enough not to yell if I ask him what's wrong three times in an hour. Or less.
Ooof that’s so hard to deal with. Parents teach us at our very core how we’re to be treated and how we “should”react – it’s so incredibly hard to erase that influence whether it was good or bad. Or in your case, terribly awful.
I can’t say that I’d see how your seeing him when he’s dying would make any difference to your quality of life, given how it went when you tried to maintain civilized contact and repair the relationship. So long as he thinks he’s right, I wouldn’t think that his dying would change what he’s done, nor does it mean that he would change and become someone less hurtful. Why give him a chance to take a parting shot at you? But that’s just me.
I hope that given more time, and awareness, your reactions will start to affect you less badly. You deserve to be freed from that.
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Thank you so much for sharing your story in your blog. I’m inspired (from down under) by whatbyou achieve!
Thanks, Jane!
I just stumbled across this decade-old post and hope you don’t mind me throwing in my half dollar. Armchair diagnosis due to familiarity: Narcissism. Narcissists rarely “get better” because it’s a behavioral not chemical problem. There’s no better because the world is wrong, not them. Therapy often gives them a sense of smug pride; yet another stupid person who doesn’t get it. And it’s true—you can’t understand someone with a personality disorder. There’s no reasoning, no logic, no reality. They honestly believe they are right, absolutely right. You can’t argue. You just feel completely impotent and try not to breathe to loud.
I’m proud of you, lady. Narcissism creates its own world,, and there’s no possible way to live in it. They will not change because why would they? They are right. The ONLY thing you can do with a narcissist is acknowledge the gangrene they have caused and cut it off. Remove the limb. Gone.
Love ya, gal 💕
Jenna, thank you for this comment. It’s true that narcissism is pretty easy to diagnose via armchair — and that it’s toxic behavior that usually isn’t going to get better. All we can do is jump ship and paddle toward a much more peaceful shore.